Pony: 1969
by magentamom
Summary: Five years after the book. I'm thinking of five-year intervals  I first started thinking 10, but this seemed necessary.  Rating is primarily for language. I don't tame what I think people would use. This stands as one shot, but I have ideas for more.


Five years – 1969

It's been five years since that day that I thought the worst that could ever happen happened. Johnny told me with his last breath told me to "stay gold," and Dally dropped like he was hit with a poleax under that streetlight. I remember both, although little for days, maybe weeks , afterward.

Darry was impossible to deal with. Soda was worried until he finally snapped and made us try to get along. And it just all seemed like the worst that could possibly happen. Our parents were gone; my best friend was dead; I was tripping over the obvious and flunking my classes. Things just didn't get worse than they were that day or week or month. I didn't think.

Of course, they got worse, though. I couldn't have imagined, didn't want to. I was the smart one, the connected one, but I wasn't paying a damned bit of attention to a war half a world away until my brother got that draft notice. God, how could they take Soda, who wouldn't hurt a fly unless it was buzzing at a member of our gang? They did, though. Last picture I have of him is with almost no hair but still movie star handsome, just a different film than I'd like.

If Darry and I didn't get along before that, it was all bad after Soda went to war. If I had to get to college to get out of Tulsa, I sure as hell now had to be sure I'd go to stay out of the war. Funny thing, we didn't disagree overall. I sure preferred college to combat myself, but Darry made my grades his 24/7 obsession. That didn't rub so well with me, and there wasn't a Soda to act as middleman. Those were some tough times, and I know it wasn't anyone's fault. Just bad. Even Two-Bit avoided our house, and that meant avoiding free food and beer. It was something, and I figured we'd work it out for Soda when he got back. We would have, I'm sure. Either one of us would do pretty much anything for Soda.

We worked it out, in the end, because he wasn't coming back. That's been the worst. He's not coming back, and while I knew that was a possibility, it's hard to believe. I know Soda wasn't special to the world, just a number who came up, but he was special to us, and it's hard to believe he'll not be back to wrestle Darry and me and try to out smart-ass Two-Bit.

So, a couple of years ago, we buried what they told us was Soda. I'm skeptical. It's what was left, I guess, certainly no actual trace of Sodapop Patrick Curtis in the mix. He was laughter and love and unpredictability, and that closed box they sent was cold and hard and repeated way too often. It's not like we were alone in this, I guess. But you're always alone in the loss. My favorite brother, and yeah, that's maybe unfair, but it's damned true. Darry and I have come a long way, but Soda, well, he was Soda, and we were always one another's favorites.

Darry knew, and I knew, hell, everyone knew. Steve Randle was about ready to throttle me at the funeral just for being there. OK, Steve was ready to throttle anyone who got near him, but still, I couldn't miss the irony of being the tag-along at my brother's funeral. Sorry, Steve, maybe if you'd invited some girls. It was probably my only chuckle of the day, Steve's insistence that somehow I was intruding. Got to give it to Two-Bit, though, his almost unfailing good humor failed, and Steve shut up while I was still amused rather than devastated. Whole thing ridiculous. Really, Steve, you're going to argue over the dead guy's favorite? Maybe just accept it was both, just different times, different reasons.

But that was years ago. Still less than five, how is it 19 seems like I'm ancient with experience? Shit. Now I'm still trying to cope with all of it.

Like I said, Darry and I worked things out, at least as much as Darry and I can. We're just too different for it to all be smooth sailing. But we did agree college deferment beat the hell out of me heading for the jungle, so there was a level of cooperation. OK, I cooperated, because as pissed off as I was when I heard Soda was dead, I didn't take that as a great opportunity to go kill gooks any more than Johnny dying really made me want to go kill Socs. Maybe I just don't have the normal of revenge instinct in me. Although, it's something Darry and I do have in common, because he doesn't really want to fight the Socs, either, never did, unless in direct circumstances where they were hitting on one of the gang, 'especially me, although I think that's just because I was the youngest.

Anyway, so I'm in college, seems to be keeping the USA away from sending my ass to Vietnam. Between track and academic scholarships, I'm hoping I'm at least something less of a burden on Darry than I might be. I know he still worries, but I'm of the opinion I can't really be his problem anymore. He needs his own life.

On that, he won't quite admit that he's serious about his girl, but it's pretty clear. She was around when I showed up for Christmas, and I'm not sure which of us was more nervous. It was like two cats with long tails and lots of rocking chairs. I want Darry happy, hope his girl doesn't hate me. She apparently felt the same. So we tiptoed around the best tree and where to place the ornaments and who did what for dinner. Darry finally had enough and told us both to stop and just work on the potatoes. We laughed and fell into a rhythm while Darry fixed the ham, and we laughed all the harder when Two-Bit somehow managed to show up just in time for the food with none of the work. Probably his second meal of the day, as his mom always did early Christmas meals to allow for her shift later in the evening.

But it was good to see Two-Bit and to laugh with Barb. It seemed almost – almost – normal. And for the past five years so little has seemed that way. Maybe it's coming, a new normal. Count me skeptical, but it could happen.

All I have to decide is what I want to do when I grow up.

I feel guilty even thinking of it that way. Darry gave up pretty much his whole life to keep us from a boy's home when he was my age. Soda barely made it to mine. And I have no fucking idea. Seems given the circumstances I really should. But I got nothing beyond stay in school and out of Vietnam. Don't think I'm alone there, but it seems insufficient for the sacrifices made for me, you know?


End file.
